The Enemy of My Enemy
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Missing Scene: Simon S. Another life lost to the battle has Dean worried about Sam, and even more afraid that he might have just offered his little brother up to the enemy on a silver platter. Epilogue Added.
1. Chapter 1

The Enemy of my Enemy

By: Ridley

Rating: T

_A/N: Well, I was working on Growing Pains and then last night's episode happened. This is a missing scene, with a Brotherhood AU twist. Special thanks to Tidia for making this a better piece, and for helping come up with the ending. She rocks! _

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Dean shoved the barrel of the gun away from him, letting the rifle slip from his hand.

A euphoric feeling of relief spread throughout his body as the intense pressure in his head disappeared. He took a shaky breath, curling in on himself as he tried to get the adrenaline rush under control.

A cold sweat had him shivering in the darkness. He struggled not to let the bile, creeping up the back of his throat, make an appearance with his gourmet convenience store lunch in tow. He had nearly righted himself when the unexpected ringing of his cell was nearly the final straw for his trembling arms.

With much effort, the hunter managed to keep his face out of the dirt and pull the distraction from his jacket pocket. "Yeah?" he choked out.

"_**Stop!** Don't you dare do it!"_ A frantic plea burst through the phone. Dean winced, pulling the cell slightly away from his ear.

"Caleb?" He managed, shoving himself up straighter, his eyes instantly going to the group of people below him. Damn it. Sam was still down.

The voice burst through the phone again, seeming amplified due to the abuse his overtaxed central nervous system had endured. _"Deuce…So help me God if you take yourself out of the game, I will hunt your ass down into the bowels of hell and…"_

"Dude…chill." Dean brought a shaky hand to his aching head before bending over to pick up the discarded weapon. He struggled to his feet. "I'm not suicidal!"

"_You telling me you're not on a ridge with a fucking hunting rifle?" _

Winchester sighed, still trying to calm his racing heart, as he decided the quickest route to get him back to his brother. "Of course I'm on a ridge with a hunting rifle," he muttered. "You're the fucking Hank Aaron of psychics, aren't you?"

"_Deuce? What the hell is going on?"_

He didn't have time to play twenty questions with Reaves, no matter how shaken the other man sounded. "Some freaky Jedi mind-control is what's going on. But it's over now. The evil Obi-wan is dead and I'm good. I'll call you back."

Winchester hung up the phone and half ran-half slid down the dense foliage covered slope that would take him to his brother. Sam had made it to his knees by the time he reached him, his head buried in his hands.

"Hey," The older Winchester skidded to a halt beside of him, laying a steadying hand on his back. "You okay, little brother?"

Sam lifted his head with a start. The look of all-consuming agony and grief, mixed with physical pain stole the blond hunter's breath. "Dean? Oh, God. I saw…You…I thought…"

"Hey…hey…," Dean shushed him, moving his hand to the side of his brother's face. "Take it easy. I'm good." He lied. Just watching Sam be clobbered by the mind-controlled Barbie was bad enough, but nearly committing suicide and leaving the kid alone had almost driven him over that proverbial edge. And now to know Sam's mental movie projector had apparently let him see the same thing Caleb had been privy to… "How you doing?" So much for watching out for Sammy.

Sam looked at him with watery, blood-shot eyes. He wrapped his hands in the front of his jacket, taking a deep, shaky breath. "You sure you're okay?" The recent grief was back with a vengeance and Dean sighed heavily.

He forced a grin, patted his brother's cheek. "Do you see a hole in my head, Sammy? I'm as handsome as ever. No harm done."

The younger man winced, nearly collapsing against the older Winchester. He let his forehead rest against his brother's chest. "Thank God." He tried to get his breathing under control, desperately needing to erase the image of Dean's shattered skull from his mind. What was with his brother and head shots?

"But what about you, dude? You're not going to puke on me are you?"

Sam laughed, tightening his hold on the other man. He had gone from listening to Andy's evil twin prattle on about an amazing plan the man with the gold eyes had for them all, to seeing his brother's death flash before his eyes. Yeah, he was doing just great. "I'm okay," Sam finally replied.

Dean let his hands rest on his brother's shoulders, giving him a moment to pull it together, while he took the time to check the younger man out. There was blood seeping from somewhere underneath Sam's long hair and some nasty-looking bruising on the right side of his neck.

The older Winchester forced his eyes away from his brother long enough to focus on Andy, who was still holding the proverbial smoking gun Sam had lost. The poor guy looked shell-shocked, but his twin looked a whole hell of a lot worse. Webber's brains were painted across the side of his car, some of the gore splattered on Sammy, too.

Dean suddenly needed to get them up off the ground and away from the dead psychic. "Sammy, can you stand?"

Sam nodded; let his brother help him to his feet. He wobbled like a newborn foal for a moment. Dean kept a hold of him until he was steady.

"Andy?" Sam moved his gaze to the other kid, and then to Tracy, who was sitting curled into herself, crying.

"I'm okay," the boy finally answered, letting the gun drop from his hand to land with an ominous thud on the ground.

It wasn't the safest option, but Dean still felt relieved the psychic was now weaponless.

"Damn," Sam hissed, his eyes landing on Webber, lingering on the bloody mess.

"Hey," Dean turned him around. "This wasn't your fault."

The twenty-three-year-old looking at him was suddenly five again. "He killed his brother." Sam said quietly, and the older hunter wished he could turn back time, protect them all from what had happened.

"No, he killed a monster."

The dark haired hunter frowned. "He was his **_brother._**"

Dean knew what he was saying. Understood exactly where his baby brother's guilt-susceptible mind was taking him. He moved so he was blocking the view of Webber's body and squeezed his brother's shoulder again.

"Not like us, kiddo." He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Andy spoke softly into his phone. The kid looked so calm, so detached. His eyes went back to Sam's glassy-gaze. "You're nothing like Webber. They are nothing like us."

His brother finally seemed to see _him_, not some visceral mess. He slowly nodded, swallowed thickly. "I'd die first." Sam said, softly, and Dean knew exactly what he was talking about.

Although he was touched by the sentiment, the idea his brother could ever be faced with such a choice terrified him. "Forget about it. Nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Sam let his gaze drift back to Andy's brother, and then to his own once more. "I have an edge."

Dean let a small smile creep onto his face. "Damn straight." He gave Sam a small shove.

"Now let's get you cleaned up before the cops show."

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The last place he had wanted to return to was the roadhouse, but Ellen had said it was important…about the demon. And Dean hadn't been able to resist.

Now, he wished he had listened to that little voice telling him to drive as fast as he could in the opposite direction, to get Sammy as far away as possible. Later, he would look back on that moment as the beginning of the end. Still…the booze was free.

Jo had just leaned across the bar to pour him another shot, when his cell rang. Sam gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. "Reeva," He mouthed loud enough for the girl to hear. She huffed and backed off, but not out of ear shot, Dean noticed.

The phone rang again. He bobbed his eyebrows at his brother, before answering. "Hey, sweetheart."

"_Sweetheart?_" The voice that came through was definitely not feminine or friendly. "_Are you wasted?"_

"No. But I was thinking about heading that way later, actually." Dean rolled his eyes as Jo actually began to pout. "Where are you, babe?"

"_I'm outside this miserable shack masquerading as a bar, **darlin'**. So get your weird ass out here. It's fucking cold." _

"Need someone to keep you warm, huh?"

"_You sure you don't have a head wound, Deuce?" _

Dean kept the smile plastered on his face, although he was silently kicking himself for not remembering to call the psychic back. "No, I'm good, cupcake. Hold on and I'll get us some privacy."

Sam was looking at him as if he had just grown a second head, but he continued to smile as he motioned to the door. "I'm going to take this outside, Sammy."

"Right," his brother watched him go, feeling the twin gazes on him before he even turned back to the woman and her young daughter.

"What's with him?" Jo asked.

Sam shrugged "Young love." He picked up the shot his brother had abandoned and tossed it back. "May it always be a mystery."

_Reeva_ was right. It was fucking freezing outside.

The wind stung Dean's face as he exited the roadhouse. He pulled his jacket in tighter around him as he caught site of the haunting truck parked near the Impala.

It was still weird to see his Dad's vehicle, and not find his father behind the wheel. But watching Caleb Reaves slip from inside the cab sent a wave of something close to safety washing over him and suddenly it wasn't quite as cold.

The big hunter slammed the door, stepped to the front of the black beast. He rubbed his hands together, gave the blond a hard look that spoke volumes. "Deuce, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Ellen called us."

"Yeah? I called you, too. You didn't call me back." Reaves looked around. "I told you to stay away from this place."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Are you keeping tabs on us now?"

Caleb glared at him. "Not more than six hours ago, I saw you put a fucking sniper's rifle under your chin- scatter your brains all over the fucking woods."

Dean's face softened, he raked a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Sorry for the horror show."

The psychic looked him up and down, making sure he really was in one piece. He shook his head, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. "You should be." The dark haired hunter grinned slightly, leaning back against the front of the truck. "If you could have seen the brunette I was with when your death interrupted me…"

Dean joined him, letting the residual warmth of the engine chase away more of the chill, the companionship killing off the rest. "Hey, at least I saved one poor girl from your advances."

Reaves laughed, but it rang hollow. "Do I need to save _you_ from someone else's advances?"

Dean cut his eyes to the older hunter, recognizing the mask of indifference for the concern it was. "I'm playing it cool, man."

Caleb looked towards the bar in the distance. "Make sure you do."

Dean raised his hand. "Scout's honor. I'm not that stupid, or desperate." When Reaves favored him with a skeptical look, the younger hunter groaned. "What? You want to come in and see for yourself?"

"I'm not going in there." Reaves shook his head.

"You afraid of Ellen, too?"

The psychic raised a brow. "Maybe. I hear she's rough."

"Sam seems to like her." He let his gaze go back towards the road house. "She says she wants to help."

"Help who?" Caleb growled. "And what the hell does Sammy know? He once tried to make friends with a werewolf."

"True." Dean sighed. "But she seems legit."

"Are you sure about that?"

He eyed the psychic. "She says there's a war coming."

"She's right."

"She says that we all need to work together. No secrets."

At that Reaves laughed again, but this time it was filled with mirth. He raised his head to the night sky. "And you choose **'this'** woman to be upfront with, kid. What the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Dean looked earnestly to Reaves. "Sun-tzu."

Caleb frowned at him. "Yeah, I've read John's Bible, too, kid. Try this one out,' Warfare is the way of Deception'."

The younger hunter sighed, looked away.

Reaves angled his body, and leaned into the grill. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around the other hunter's forearm, giving it a slight squeeze. "That whole mutual alliance thing only works if you know who the 'enemy' is, Deuce." The psychic waited for the younger man's gaze to travel from his hand to meet his eyes again. "We've yet to see his true face."

"Or _faces_?" Dean asked, hoping his friend wouldn't give the answer he didn't want to hear.

"Exactly."

"You really think they're involved." Dean jutted his chin towards the road house.

Caleb sighed. "All I know is there was a reason John stopped coming here-cut off all contact. He never brought you or Sammy here." The psychic shook his head. "Hell, the one time he brought me, he ordered me to sit in the fucking truck."

The younger hunter frowned. "Been that long ago?"

Caleb snorted. "Dude-I was thirty."

Dean laughed then, a familiar ache pounding in his chest. His gaze fell to the ground, he scooted his boot around in the dirt. "Maybe he was afraid of what Jo would do to you."

Reaves snorted. "Maybe. He sure was pissed when I sauntered on in, asked for a beer."

Dean looked at him then. "Do you think Dad had a thing with Ellen?"

"What?" Caleb's smile faded quickly. "No fucking way. Your dad never got over your mom. And, plus, he could do a lot better than her."

Dean nodded. "That's what I said."

"Although…I think Bobby had a running tab here once."

Winchester cut his eyes to Reaves. "That's scary."

"You're telling me."

A comfortable silence surrounded them for a long moment, but finally Dean asked the million dollar question. "Why do you think Dad didn't want you to go in?"

"The other hunters, maybe?" Caleb shrugged. "The fact that I was a freak? Take your pick."

Sometimes the way their minds worked in similar fashion scared the shit out of Dean. He didn't want his own fears confirmed, especially since that meant he had already screwed up. "But a lot of hunters are psychic. In the Brotherhood…"

Caleb cut him off. "Deuce, these people aren't exactly card-carrying members of the Brotherhood." He lifted his hand, silver ring flashing in the moonlight. "They're hunters, and that's about it."

"I don't get it."

"It's complicated-like I explained about Gordon. Just don't let your guard down. Don't let Sam go all smiling, Golden Retriever on them."

Dean looked away. "He hasn't has he?" Reaves demanded, a cold knot of dread unfurling in the pit of his stomach. "Deuce?"

"He told Ellen about his abilities. Jo was in there, too."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" The psychic exploded, sounding way too much like John Winchester.

The younger hunter glared at him. "Me? I told him to keep his mouth shut." He shook his head, when Reaves continued to stare at him. "You know Sammy. You pegged it yourself…big, goofy, warm brown-eyes, mop-like hair. I'm surprised he hasn't licked one of them yet."

"Goddamnit, Dean!" Caleb palmed his eyes, raked a hand over his slight five o'clock shadow. "Your dad would…"

"What?" It was Dean's turn to snap. "What would Dad do, Damien?"

Reaves closed his mouth, dropped what he was about to say as the feelings Dean was experiencing pierced his defenses. "Because he's not here, and I would really love to know what brilliant plan he would come up with. I wish to hell he was here to tell me what to do about Sammy, because I don't have a fucking clue, man."

"Dean." It came out sounding as loaded as the weapons they both were packing.

The younger man glanced up, curious at the completely unfamiliar tone, and the rare use of his given name. "What?"

"Don't feed me that line of bull. You never needed your dad to figure out how to take care of Sam. Not even when you were a kid. I'm not sure you ever trusted anybody with that job." Caleb licked his lips, studied Dean for a moment. He was picking up the anxiety the younger hunter was feeling, the uncharacteristic sense of insecurity, and he wished like hell you knew how to fix it. Dean was afraid for his brother. "I know the old man dying has shaken you. I know you miss him, but this…" He looked at the bar. "**These** people are not the answer."

Dean thought he saw a hint of something he recognized as hurt flash through the amber eyes, but it was gone too quickly. He had no fucking doubt the other man was reading him. So much for secrets or the game face. "I can't do this alone, man. " Winchester shook his head. "His visions are worse. I can't do anything for him…the pain." The blond clenched his jaw, fisted his hands. "It's killing me to watch it." He'd never been able to stand seeing his brother hurting, and since losing their dad, it was worse.

Reaves nodded. "He can learn to deal with it, Deuce. You know that. I did. It'll take practice, but he can learn not to fight it. Sam's not alone in this." Caleb glanced away, cleared his throat. "Neither are you."

"Does that mean I can expect more of these late night rendezvous?" The blond hunter cocked an eyebrow. "Because people are going to start to talk."

Caleb snorted. "Let's just say that I have it on good authority that you and Sam are being watched after."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Another premonition?"

Reaves rolled his shoulders, straightened to his full six-two height. "Hey, you hit it on the head when you called me Hank Aaron." He shot the younger man a cocky-grin. "Although, I would have said Ryan Howard."

The younger hunter gave him a 'you wish' smirk. "I better get back; this was supposed to be a quickie." Dean pushed off from the truck.

Caleb nodded. "Five minutes, damn, you better practice your phone sex."

Dean snorted, and lifted his middle finger in response. He started to walk away when Reaves called out to him, held up a hand for him to hold up.

The psychic circled around to the passenger's side of the truck, opening the door. He pulled out a plastic bag and started back towards Dean. "Here." He shoved the package towards the younger man. "Christmas is just around the corner and I might not see you guys."

Winchester took the gift, but looked at Caleb as if he were possessed. "The last time you got me something for Christmas I was six and Mac made you give me one of your presents."

Reaves rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'm getting in touch with my sensitive side." He watched as Dean tore the paper away to reveal a new lap top computer. The psychic glanced towards the bar again. "Tell Geek Boy he can stay away from that freak with the really bad mullet now."

Winchester looked at him, not really sure what to say. "Thanks, Damien."

The psychic nodded. "Remember what I said, Deuce, there can only be victory when we know the enemy." Caleb grinned at him. "And I sure as hell don't mean 'know' in the Biblical sense."

Dean shook his head as he watched his friend return to the truck, flicking the headlights on as he backed out of the lot. The young hunter covered his eyes from the shine, and moved his gaze to the roadhouse. A feeling of wariness engulfed him. It was damn unfortunate Sun-tzu had never given advice on psychic brothers, demons and the whole supernatural craziness. He could sure use a guidebook right about now.

October 2006

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A/N: Just a note to let you know that the next chapter of Growing Pains will hopefully be up tonight, but no later than tomorrow. This piece wouldn't leave me alone after the parts with Jo and Ellen last night. I'm really concerned, now. I encourage you, Please, Please, write those letters and comment on the boards about the direction of the show. Some things I've noted is …Why isn't Sam doing the computer research anymore? How young is Jo?? Hello. We have had some awesome female characters that would have been great fun to watch Dean interact with. She is not one of them. And Ellen. Well, excuse my French, (and no disrespect to our French friends), but that woman pisses me off. Where does she get off pushing herself into the Winchester world. And talking to Dean like that??? I'm sorry, I didn't find it amusing or funny. And I don't think she comes off as a strong woman. Okay…I've vented now. If you like the characters, just ignore my raves, but I'd still love to hear what you think of the story.-Rid


	2. Epilogue

A/N: A few very kind reviewers asked for this…and it is Halloween. How could I resist treating them. I hope you all enjoy. Supernatural thanks to Tidia who did a quick beta!

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Dean looked up as the waitress set his and Sam's plates down on the small table and offered him a small grin. "Two Uncle Hershel's Specials. You boys enjoy."

"Uncle Hershel must have been my kind of guy." The oldest Winchester appraised the pile of eggs, meat, and pancakes. He winked at the girl, whose name tag read 'Darla'. "Did he have a thing for brunettes, too?"

Darla's smile grew, but she merely shook her head and walked away. Dean lasciviously watched her go, continuing to follow her trek around the small restaurant until his brother cleared his throat.

"Dean! All I've heard for the last week is that everything you've eaten has been frozen and nuked in a mini-mart." Sam gestured towards his brother's plate. "Eat-before it gets cold."

The blond hunter grabbed his fork and spoon and favored his brother with a raised brow. "Dude-good food is not the only thing I've been deprived of lately."

The dark haired younger man held up his hand. "Don't ruin my appetite."

"And here I thought you wanted us to share everything these days, Sammy." Dean picked up some bacon and waved it at his brother. "So much for Mister Heart-to-Heart."

"Just eat your breakfast," Sam growled, shaking his head slightly as the bells tied to the diner door clanged loudly. However, it wasn't the noise that had him rubbing at his head and looking towards the entrance. It was the familiar tingling sensation at the base of his brain.

"Caleb," he said, bringing his brother's gaze up from his food to also look towards the door.

Dean almost spit his coffee on the table as he took in the other hunter he'd just spoken to last night at the road house. Gone was the slight beard and disheveled hair. No typical faded jeans, black T-shirt, and leather jacket either.

Reaves was clean-shaven, sporting dress slacks and a jacket that most definitely had not come from a second-hand shop. His dark hair was slightly damp as if he'd just showered, but it was styled more than usual, losing the tousled, bed-head quality he and Sam seemed to share most of the time. Several of the patrons stopped eating to watch him cross the diner and it struck Dean as funny that even dressed differently the man still looked dangerous.

"Don't say a word," Reaves warned, dropping into the booth beside Sam, and shooting Dean a deadly glare.

"About what?" Dean smiled innocently.

Caleb tilted his head. "I can read your mind, you know."

The oldest Winchester's grin widened. "Oh, please do, GQ."

"Cute."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, with a slight grin of his own. "And where the hell are you going dressed like that?"

Reaves started to answer but Darla was suddenly glued to their table, looking at the psychic like she might ask him for his autograph or burst out in adolescent giggles at any moment. "Can I get you something?" She asked, brightly, favoring him with a megawatt smile.

Caleb grinned at her. "Just coffee, sweetheart."

"How would you like it?" The girl practically sighed.

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smirked at him, immensely enjoying his brother's dejection.

"Just black," Reaves replied, catching the look Dean was giving him. "No need to add anything sweet, when you're serving it."

"Oh God." Dean made a gagging sound, but Darla didn't seem to notice. She was too busy blushing. "Kill me now."

Caleb bobbed his eyebrows at the older Winchester when the waitress glided away. "Want me to get her number for you, Deuce? She really is too young for my tastes."

"Fuck you."

Reaves laughed, snatched a piece of bacon from Dean's plate. "Funny, but Darla had almost those exact same thoughts about me. Must be this new cologne."

Dean pushed himself up from the booth. "I have the sudden urge to relieve myself." He looked at Sam. "Keep Hunter Ken-doll out of my food."

Caleb slid over into the younger man's spot once he was gone, snatching a piece of toast this time. "He's so easy."

The younger Winchester shook his head. "What are you doing here, man? Dean said you were leaving town last night."

"I decided to stick around. See you two off." He tossed another piece of bacon in his mouth, giving Sam an appraising glance. "You look like hell by the way."

Sam frowned, ignoring the comment on his appearance. "Meaning you wanted to make sure we left the roadhouse?"

Reaves shrugged, waited for Darla to dole out his coffee, and a huge pastry he had not asked for before answering Sam. "You make it sound like I was spying on you, Sammy."

"You said it, not me."

"Yeah, but you were thinking it."

"You're not supposed to read people without asking."

"God." Caleb sat back against the booth. "You still sound like that petulant little ten-year-old, who use to bust my chops every chance you got."

Sam's mouth twitched. "Jim use to give me quarters when I'd tell on you."

Reaves groaned. "I wondered how that old man kept such tabs on me. I use to wonder if he wasn't hiding his own psychic ability." He shook his head. "You could of at least held out for a buck. Is loyalty nothing to you, runt?"

"Is this what all of this is about?" Sam raised a brow. "Loyalty?"

Caleb continued to eat Dean's breakfast. "If you're talking about me keeping an eye on you and Dean…yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Yep." Reaves took a drink of his coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"That's all the answer you're going to give me?" Sam growled. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"Damn. Hangovers make you more pissy than usual."

Sam frowned, picking at his own food. "Hangover?" He glanced up at the other hunter. "I only had two beers last night. Dean rushed us out of the roadhouse after his little romantic rendezvous with you."

Caleb tapped his head. "I wasn't talking about that kind of hangover, kid. Synaptic overload is a whole hell of a lot worse than Tequila."

"Oh," Sam sighed, looking back down at his plate. "That."

"Yeah, _that_." Reaves watched him over the rim of his coffee cup. "Sucks doesn't it?"

The younger psychic met and held his gaze, wishing he could somehow voice everything he was feeling. "Yeah. It sucks."

Caleb sighed, raked a hand through his hair, hating the kicked puppy dog look. "Listen, Sammy, I know it isn't easy. Believe me. But these are the cards you've been dealt. The sooner you start to make them work for you, the better you'll be."

"Work for me?" Sam's face twisted into a grimace. "I can't control them. At all!" He looked conscientiously around the diner, and lowered his voice. "How the hell are they supposed to work for me?"

"You may never be able to control them, Sam." Caleb glanced away. "But you can learn to give into them-not to fight them."

"Not to fight?" Sam snorted. "All my life-everyone, including you, by the way, has told me I have to fight. And now you're saying that I should just give into the demon?"

"What?" Reaves eyes widened. He shook his head, adamantly. "I'm not talking about the demon, kid. I'm talking about your abilities."

"Same difference."

"No. That's where you're wrong."

"How do you know? How do you know the demon isn't just waiting for me to figure everything out, so he can…" Sam faltered.

Caleb watched him, feeling the turmoil well up from inside. "So he can come and take you?"

The younger hunter picked his fork back up, stabbed a piece of pancake. "I don't want to talk about this."

"That's a lie."

"Stop reading me," Sam growled, without much heat.

"Stop shutting me out." Caleb took a breath tried to control his temper. He waited for the kid to look at him again. "I get it, Sam. Really. I do. Trust me. I spent my whole life thinking that I was some kind of freak-something evil because of what I could do. I resisted learning, too. But in the end, I only hurt myself."

Winchester was barely able to swallow the syrup covered bite past the growing lump in his throat. He forced it down, glancing up at Reaves. "I'm scared."

"Who wouldn't be?"

"Dean…you..." The kid gestured with his fork.

"You're kidding, right?" Reaves threw his hands in the air, in exasperation. "Sam, I was a freaking kid when I got my abilities. The first vision I can remember was of my Grandmother's death. God-I thought I had _caused_ her to die. I ended up in a mental institution. If Mac hadn't found me, if there had been no Pastor Jim or John Winchester-no Brotherhood- then I'd be dead right now." He looked at the kid. "I would have taken myself out." Caleb couldn't help but to remember the all too recent image of Dean blowing the back of his skull out with a sniper's rifle, and he winced. "All of us are terrified of something, Sammy. No matter who we are."

"But I don't know what to do."

"You'll learn," he said with a conviction that left no room for doubt.

The younger psychic still didn't look convinced. "But in the mean time, I keep letting people die, letting people get hurt."

Reaves sighed. "Sam, even when you get good at it, they'll be people you can't save-ones you aren't **meant** to save."

"How do you know the difference?"

Caleb forced a weary smile. "You don't."

"Wonderful." Sam shook his head. "Did you get all dressed up to come tell me that?"

Reaves snorted. "Hell, kid, I could have told you that with my boxers and a t-shirt on. I got dressed up to eat your brother's breakfast." He grinned wickedly, taking another bite of eggs.

Winchester took a deep, calming breath, let it out slowly. "Really, man, why are you looking like you're about to hit the red carpet?"

"Business," Reaves evaded in typical fashion.

But Sam wasn't having any of it. He was tired of all the macho bullshit he got from all the big bad hunters in his life.

Reaves frowned when he felt the mental equivalent of a wire tap being placed. "Sam," he warned.

Winchester ignored him, and Caleb didn't have the heart to put up the blocks he could have. The lines of pain already present around the kid's shadowed eyes were guilt-inducing enough. He'd let the kid play Joe Hardy.

"You're selling Tri-Corp?" Sam's frown deepened, but Caleb actually looked impressed.

"See…you're getting better already."

"But why?" The kid leaned against the table. "You started that business. You love it."

Caleb shrugged. "I haven't got time to build buildings anymore, Sammy. Or to even remotely oversee other people building buildings. She's become more of a neglected mistress than anything else. It's no big deal."

But the younger man knew it was. His father and Pastor Jim had helped Caleb get the small architectural consulting and construction business off the ground years ago when he graduated college. It might not have been hunting-but it was important. "What about the bridges?"

Reaves laughed. "Now those…" Yes. There were still a lot of bridges to build-the proverbial kind, not of the steel design.

Dean chose that moment to return, shoving Caleb hard. "Scoot over, mooch."

Reaves grinned, thankful for the change in subject. "Thanks for the breakfast, Deuce. I owe you one."

"One?" Dean snorted, snatching the bacon right out of Caleb's hand. "Try about twenty."

"I bought you an awesome Christmas present…you can't buy me a meal?"

"Christmas is still two weeks away, and I thought that was for Geek boy?" Dean shot his brother an amused glance. "To keep him out Joe Dirt's back room."

Reaves grinned, dimple flashing. "I was more concerned about keeping you off the sex-offender's list."

Dean let a hand gesture suffice as his reply as he finished off what was left of his eggs.

Caleb looked to the younger Winchester. "But I got something for you, too, runt."

He reached into the inside of his jacket and withdrew a thick, black, leather-bound journal. "It's not as good as one on one training, but this might help."

"Hey!" Dean intervened, making a grab for the book. "That better not be your little black book, Damien. You promised that to me."

Caleb held the journal away from Dean. "Chill, Deuce. This is not _that_ black book." Reaves frowned. "For one-it's too small. For another…why the hell would I give it to Sammy? He's still got training wheels on." He gave the blond a hard look. "And most importantly…I'm not dead."

"I'm sitting right here!" The younger Winchester growled, hating how he seemed to instantly digress to the age of five when the two older hunters got together.

"Then what is it?" Dean asked, relaxing back against the bench seat, shooting the other hunter a puzzled look.

Caleb sighed. He had made the decision last night, but now it seemed like the wrong one. Kind of like selling Tri-Corps. Another part of himself gone. But this was the Winchesters…"It's the journal Mac kept on me when I was learning to use my abilities. Every little detail about those years is in here. From the time he pulled me from the institution until the time I turned twenty-one." The psychic fingered the worn leather, remembering the day his father gave it to him. He'd been so pissed in the beginning, hurt and angry that he'd apparently been nothing more than a lab rat to Mackland Ames.

But then he'd read the carefully penned notes, the well-thought out theories and ideas to help with the pain and the fear. Then there were the personal entries. The ones about Mac's feelings and the inner-workings of the Brotherhood. They were a father's words…a Scholar's concerns…not a scientist's conjectures. It was one of the few intimate things that Caleb possessed-that he allowed himself.

Unfortunately, Ellen had been right about one thing. This was not the time for secrets. He glanced up to see both Winchesters watching him, worried expressions written on their young faces. Reaves forced a cocky, crooked grin. "Just don't even think about selling it to the Enquirer. Mac would so kick your asses."

"Are you sure you…" Sam started, but Caleb tossed him the book, effectively cutting him off.

"I'm sure. After Mac gave it to me…when I got over being pissed about it…I started adding my own stuff. It's all in there." He swallowed thickly, watching as Sam traced his fingers reverently over the cracked spine. "You might want to do the same thing." He'd made the right decision. John would have understood.

"Why are you doing this?" There was a hint of anger in Dean's voice and both of the other men looked over at him.

"Because he'll need it." Caleb explained. "You'll need to read it, too, Deuce." He tried his hand at levity. "Most of it will be on your level, although you might need to keep a dictionary handy." When the kid continued to glare at him, he tried another tactic. "It will give you ideas on how to help with the less pleasant side of being the brother of a freaky psychic. It'll help you take care of Sam."

"You said you were going to help." The older Winchester countered. "What's with giving all your crap away?"

"Excuse me?"

"You trying to tell us something?" He should have guessed. People were good at one thing-leaving.

Reaves shook his head, attempting not to let his temper get the best of him. "What is your problem, Deuce?"

"My problem is that you're beginning to sound a whole hell of a lot like Dad. You going to stop answering your cell phone, too? Send us coordinates out of the blue? Hiding things from us for our own good?"

"Dean," Sam said, shooting his brother a hard look. "Cut it out."

Reaves held up his hand in mock surrender. "You're way off base, Deuce."

"Stop calling me that!" Dean snapped, and several of the patrons looked there way. "It's _Dean_."

"Right." Caleb shook his head. "Dean. I got it."

"Good." Dean stood up, threw a wad of bills on the table. "I'll meet you outside, Sammy."

With that he was gone, and for a moment, neither man said anything.

"Caleb…" Finally Sam broke the silence.

"Save it, Sam." Reaves offered the younger psychic a weary smile. "It's no big deal."

This time the younger man didn't even have to use his abilities to know Caleb was lying. Just another piece of him tossed away.

Reaves looked at his Rolex. "Look, I have a plane to catch." He pointed a finger at Sam. "Take care of that book, runt."

"Can I call you?"

"Anytime, kid."

"When will we see you again?"

Reaves sighed. "I'll be in Los Angeles for a few days, and then I told Boone I would look into a job for him, in North Carolina."

"Okay." Sam looked down at the journal, and out the window to the parking lot. "He's still all tore up over Dad…you know."

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. Aren't we all."

Sam met his gaze. "He's just afraid you're going to get yourself killed, too."

Reaves laughed. "Did you get that from reading him?"

A hint of a dimple showed, and the youngest Winchester shook his head. "I'm still not ready to go there, yet."

"Smart boy," Caleb told him, as he started to slide out of the booth. He stopped at the edge and faced Sam again. "And Sammy…"

The kid looked up. "Yeah?"

"About the roadhouse…just be careful about who you let into your world. You understand me?"

Sam frowned. "You mean keep my mouth shut about my abilities?"

Reaves nodded. "It sucks. But there are people out there who will only see the supernatural side of it. Even those who we count among our friends…I learned the hard way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean some of the other hunters…never mind," Caleb waved it away. "It was a long time ago."

A familiar stubborn scowl etched into the angular face, and Reaves felt the pang of grief like a swift punch to the gut. The kid could look just like John. "Tell me."

Caleb sighed, knowing he'd opened the proverbial can of worms. "Ian, Fisher…Joshua-they found out what I could do." Reaves shrugged. "Freaked them out. Long story short -they beat the shit out of me." Caleb looked down at the silver ring on his right hand, twisted the metal around his finger. "I learned really fast who my friends were. I could count them on one hand."

Sam's frown deepened, even as his dark eyes softened. "Did Dad and Mac know?"

The psychic looked at him. "I told them some lame story about being tossed around by a nasty poltergeist. I don't think they bought it, but they didn't push it either."

"That's why Mac kept you away from most of the Brotherhood-away from the other hunters?"

Caleb nodded. Among other reasons. "Yeah. And sometimes, even the ones he trusted didn't understand."

"That's why Dad kept us away, too. Isn't it?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"He knew about my abilities a long time ago, didn't he?"

Reaves nodded to the book. "It's all in there, kid. I'm not the only one Mac studied."

The kid looked at him, and this time it was all Sam. "Thank you."

"Just take care of yourself, runt." Caleb stood, glancing towards the window. "And keep an eye on your bitch of a big brother."

Sam nodded. "I will. Just make sure you stay out of trouble."

Reaves grinned, a shit-eating, cocky grin that was so familiar it hurt. "Kid…this is me we're talking about."

"That's what I'm afraid of." He motioned towards the Impala, where his brother stood, fuming, and then glanced back to Caleb. "Sometimes you two can be your own worst enemies."

Reaves rubbed at his brow, laughed. "Know the enemy, and know yourself."

"And that means…" Sam gave him a curious look.

"That means I've got it covered."

"Or that you've been reading too much Sun-Tzu."

The psychic grinned, tugged at his jacket as if he were still trying to get accustom to the fit. "There is that." Sometimes his whole life seemed to be a study of one type of war or another. And now he understood why.

"Why don't you spend Christmas with us?" Sam stood also, hoping he didn't sound as young as he felt.

Reaves raised an amused brow. "Are we going to have a twinkling tree and stockings hung by the fire, Tiny Tim?"

Sam sighed. "Did we ever?"

Caleb laughed, reached out and quickly squeezed Sam's neck. "As long as we don't have to watch The Christmas Story and there's no singing. I refuse to sit through Deuce's twisted version of Jingle Bells."

The younger man knocked the hand away, but he was grinning. "I think we can handle that."

Reaves nodded. "I'll bring the eggnog."

"Jim's recipe?"

"Of course."

Sam held his gaze for a moment, before he finally nodded also. "Christmas, then?"

Caleb shook his head. "Yes, Sam-Christmas."

"Do I have your word?"

"For crying out loud…" Reaves rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Why don't we just spit and shake on it. Or better yet-we could pinky swear?"

Winchester crossed his arms over his chest. "A promise will do."

"Fine," Caleb sighed.

Sam continued to look at him, no mercy in the clear hazel depths. "I promise," Caleb mumbled, feigning complete annoyance. He then glanced at his watch. "Now I really have to go. For some reason airport security always stops me."

"Go figure," Winchester replied with a snort, and Reaves cuffed him on the side of the head as he passed by.

"Study that book, Sammy. There'll be a quiz." He turned around, walking backwards across the diner floor. "And help Deuce with the big words. Make him some flash cards if you have to."

Sam waved. "Yeah, yeah, I'll tell him you said good bye, and you love him, too."

Reaves returned the goodbye with his own hand gesture, which had nothing to do with a greeting. At least not in civilized cultures. "I owe you one," he mouthed, as he finally escaped through the door, the bells ringing long after he was gone.

The youngest Winchester watched him go, before turning to glance out the window to where his brother was. Dean couldn't lose not one more person. Not Caleb…and especially not his little brother. Sam sighed heavily, glancing down to the book in his hands. "No…it's definitely me, that owes you."

_A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this little ending. It bothered me to no end-and then every time I tried to write Caleb and Sam, I got this mental of image of the Fonz and Ritchie in my head….bg. But who would that make Dean…Chachie? OK. It's time to leave the computer alone for a while. -Ridley_

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Warning: More talk about the travesty of the new characters. Back away slowly with your hands raised if this is offensive to you. BG.

A/N: Hey all, I want to say a big thank you to all of those who reviewed and shared your thoughts on my ranting. It means a lot to know that I am not alone in my concerns. Some asked for these addresses so I will post them here. I will not be expressing my views on any of my other stories, except for those that relate directly to episodes in this season. I encourage everyone to write-no matter what your feelings are. Express them. I love the show, and I love the boys, but I do not like the fact that what once use to be the idea of two brothers on the open road, facing the supernatural has now become two guys hanging out at a Roadhouse, where the really scary thing is Dean being hit on by a child-like bar-maid. No offense to bar-maids. I hope I am wrong about her ending up in the back seat of the Impala. I hope that all of those holding off judgment and straddling the fence are correct in their optimism. But hope is a dangerous thing. I prefer action. And this is the only thing that I can do…even though it may not do one bit of good. But I have to try. Thank you again for all your thoughts.

Dawn Ostroff  
CW Network  
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Eric Kripke  
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USA Supernatural Films Inc  
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Canada


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